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Noah

Work was interesting, to say the least.

Brazen was kind and patient with me, but when we noticed Sunday, everything shifted. Even though I couldn’t make out the words, I could hear her elevated voice after they went in the room. When Brazen left, he couldn’t get away fast enough, and after he was gone, I couldn’t get a read on Sunday. She was tough but not unkind, and she seemed to study me intently.

Was she pissed Brazen had hired me without consulting her, or was it something more? Did those two have a relationship outside of work that she felt I was intruding on? I guess I’ll find out soon enough.

The bizarre situation can’t upset me. Nothing can.

Anything is better than being at Golden Heights.

I can do this job. I know I can, and I’m not going to give them a reason to let me go. I’ll do whatever I need to in order to prove my worth and show them that it wasn’t a mistake to take a chance on me.

I’m almost home when my feet come to a slow stop. I tilt my head, considering, and decide that fate is giving me a pat on the shoulder, as if to say, You made the right choice.

Not two blocks away from my house is the Lake Olive Arts Center.

When I was eight, a guest teacher came to my school. In my low-income area, we didn’t have many classes outside of the core academics, but every once in a while, someone would come to teach us something new. From the second the cheap, vibrant blue water paint smeared across my canvas, I knew I had found my peace.

Art is an escape that transports me to a world I understand.

I push the door open, and that same euphoria from ten years ago manifests deep within. Color. So much of it, and it’s all over. Walking into the center feels comparable to seeing Brazen without a shirt on. My pupils dilate, and my eyes widen, as if they are trying to take in everything all at once. A warm sensation runs through my body, and my enthusiasm skyrockets.

Charcoal drawings. Oil paintings. Magnificent sculptures. Almost every artistic medium is displayed throughout this front room. These are the moments I cherish, brief blips of time where everything I once dreamed about becomes a reality.

“Can I help you?”

I’m so in awe that I didn’t notice that a man had appeared behind the counter, and I’m pretty sure I still look awestruck when I turn my attention to him.

“Do you have classes here?” I will not bounce up and down in front of a stranger.

He comes from behind the counter and heads in my direction. His dreads fall behind his back as he moves. My eyes travel down his paint-stained clothes, and I wish I had brought something a little less work appropriate that I could change into and dirty.

“We have just about anything you can think of.” He hands me a brochure, and I glance at his name tag. Aaron. “What are you interested in?”

“What am I not?”

We share a smile, and then Aaron proceeds to sign me up for as many classes as I can. Drawing, painting, sculpting … I hit them all, including a couple of special classes from my Orbit List.

I’m still so giddy about the classes that I hardly care that, by the time I get home, one of my heels is blistered from walking so far. Though I do make a mental note to remember my sneakers tomorrow.

The house is loud when I walk in. Someone is blasting music and The Weeknd’s soulful voice cuts over the whirl of the vacuum. Benson is lost to his surroundings as he dances through the living room, pushing the vacuum in haphazard lines over the carpet. A grin widens over my face. Almost losing my balance, I jump onto the couch and stand proudly, passionately belting out every lyric with emphasis to “Lust for Life.”

Of course, he’s spooked by my surprise appearance at first but then calms himself, except for a small tic. Benson gives me eye contact for the first time, and hope rises inside me. Slowly, he resumes his dance while returning to his chore and belts out the female parts of the song. Without words of conversation to one another, we bond. Lana Del Rey and The Weeknd bring us together.

When the song is over, I plop down on my butt to catch my breath. Benson follows.

“The pair of you look like idiots.” Madison’s words are playful as she laughs from her spot in the doorway.

“Noah likes Lana Del Rey,” Benson tells Madison, as if it’s the world’s greatest fact.

“That’s awesome, Benny.” She plops down on the couch between us. “See? I told you she wasn’t an undercover government agent.”

“I would look great in a regal-looking suit. Maybe I shouldn’t rule that option out for my future.” I offer up a cheeky smile.

I’m beginning to see Benson in full picture, and he might be more than just a little quirky, but that’s okay with me. I care about a person’s heart and not much else.

The tic in his jaw fires off again, and he turns to Madison. “Maddy, I’ve told you that you can never be too careful. You’ve opened our home to all kinds of danger. Just because Noah seems to be working out okay, it doesn’t mean things couldn’t have ended up very differently. We could have ended up with someone who would sneak radioactive poison into our shampoo when we weren’t looking.” Benson works himself up and begins to shake.

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